Agony
by Jinx Kalantha
Summary: Dove is hollow: void of all emotions.Her brother's death tears her to pieces, and she's ready to end it all.An outsider to Dove's mountainside village rudely interrupts her attempted suicide, and then digs up painful memories while trying to kill Dove at the same time.Eventually, he gives her one last hence, the key to her survival: embrace the pain.Will Dove accept the challenge?
1. Chapter 1

I do not have any claims on the books The Dark and Hollow Places, The Dead-Tossed Waves, or The Forest Of Hands and Teeth. All of these are by Carrie Ryan.

Chapter 1

I wasn't always broken. I wasn't always empty. I was a girl, caring and loving, but I only have shadows of emotions, especially those. I don't care for anyone, certainly not myself, and I definitely do not love anyone. I stopped when my brother died.

As children, we would disappear for days at a time. It would drive my mother and father insane—they knew so much about loss and pain. My brother and I called it extreme hide-and-go-seek. Well, at least I did. He called it a vanishing act. But we knew what really happened. We would sneak out of bed or school or in between chores, and slip down and out of the village, over to the broken city that lay before our mountain home. It was perfect and beautiful and reserved. There were almost no Unconsecrated there, only packs of breakers, who were to busy smashing themselves into pits filled with barbed wire around the village to chase us.

I grew into a new person—Dove wasn't me when I went into the hopeless city, she was a girl up in a mountain village, living a hard life. I soon discovered that who I was did not exist to anyone but my brother and I. That the girl in the village was just a mask—what I was underneath was so real, so alive, and so vivid! I was sharp and smart and clever and sly all at once. I was a person to be hated and longed after all at once, but only my brother knew. Actually, two people knew, including him, but it doesn't end happily.

Even now, I can remember Jonah's death so vividly—like it was happening all over again. I cursed myself for being so slow and weak, and my brother for possessing things I did not: love. He died out of love, and I know that I'm going to die out of hate—my death is inevitable. Why not end it soon?

This was everything that crossed my mind as I trudged to the river, preparing for the end. It would be a cruel and ghastly sight for whoever stumbled upon my body, but I would be long since dead. And it wouldn't matter to me then. I kneeled beside the river, and looked out through the wire fence that hovered above the water, rusting away from the water continually licking its edges. If the river weren't so strong and deep, I would be able to worm my way through the gap and out. But I would not succeed if I tried, and would only be washed further down stream.

I stare into the deep and cold water; the surface gurgling angrily as rocks and debris stands in the way of rushing water. I can see my distorted reflection: smooth red hair, tan skin, a heart-shaped face and forcibly up-beat look to my eyes that only I can pick out. I take a deep breath, tucking my hair behind my ears. _This is it,_ I tell myself steadily in my mind. _You're going to end it all. All the struggles, the pain you've felt and the love you lost, and all the things you haven't felt for,_ I stumble in my thoughts, shock and realization hitting me, because I just realized that I haven't felt anything for at least three years. A horrible and wonderful feeling runs over me, because I can finally let go of everything and just die. Just like that.

I take another breath, and lean backwards, preparing to hold my head underwater until my breath runs out, when I hear a scream. My head snaps to the right, and I can see a group of people running towards the fence: and old but strong man, a boy and girl roughly my age, and an even younger child, stumbling along, falling down and then being scooped up again. These people are very different from others that I've seen before—they have deep olive skin and beautiful dark eyes. I stand up and lean against the fence, twisting my head so I can see what they're running from: breakers. I recognize the pack—all men, the fastest addition wearing a green shirt, making the original five now six. I know deep in my mind that the running people won't make it in time.

The oldest girl falls to her knees, a look of defeat in her eyes. The boy tries to pull her to her feet, but she refuses and shoves him away. He screams at her and shouts, shaking her shoulders and looking up frantically. The breakers are almost on them, and if the boy doesn't start running, he'd be dying with the girl. I've seen that happen to someone else I know…

The strong old man grabs the boy by the scruff of his neck, and drags him over to the fence line, kicking and screaming. The old man looks to me with pleading eyes, and I point at the river. He immediately tosses the little girl in, who sinks deep underwater and underneath the fence. The screaming and ruckus the boy is making is drawing attention from the neighbors. I can hear someone shout, "Get Catcher!" But it's too late for my father to help now; I have to. I pull the little girl out, her dress sticking to her body as she wails into my legs, clutching at them. I watch, mesmerized, as a breaker leaps at the old man, tearing his throat out. The old man could have avoided it if he hadn't been wrestling the boy underwater, who I grab at and pull onto the banks. The little girl stops clutching me and crawls towards the boy, screaming now. I can see that the two are related—similar bone structure and hair color, as well as skin tone. The girl shakes the boy again, and he opens his eyes, an intensity burning so deep in them that I have to look away. I look through the fences, and lo and behold, the old man is on his feet, shuffling and moaning towards the fence. Farther behind is the girl, her body mangled from the mauling she had just received, except she is a breaker. I climb onto one of the turrets, pulling up a crossbow. I close one eye, let my breath out slowly, take aim and shoot. I catch the infected girl in the forehead, and she drops like a rock. Breathe. Aim. Shoot. The Unconsecrated man drops, moaning forever ceased. Breathe. Aim. Shoot. One by one, I take down the group of breakers. I'm just about to put down the crossbow when I feel prickling pain on the back of my head as someone drags me by my braid, backwards and out of the turret.

The fall isn't injuring, just sharp and bone jarring. The olive-skinned boy picks me up right and shoves me against the fence, my scalp bleeding. I can hear far off moans, and I know that Unconsecrated are coming, swarming for the scent of my blood. The boy shoves me against the fence, hatred and sadness and fear in his eyes. I can hear the forming crowd shout out at his rough treatment.

"You monster," He snarls. "You feel nothing if you can kill those people—the people that I _love._" I stare blankly at him. "You won't love them so much when they try to rip your face off with their teeth." I say emotionlessly. The boy takes out a machete and presses it against my throat. "You demon," He growls, his lips against my ear so I have to hear every word. "I saw you. I _saw you._ I've watched you before, killing these people in the streets just for the sake of your own amusement. I should kill you right now, but that won't repay those lives. _They_ should kill you." The boy grabs my hand, pushing my fingers through the holes in the fence. Already I feel fingers and mouths pulling and trying to find a hold to bite. I close my eyes, feeling nothing. The boy, seeing how I don't care, drops my hand and wraps his own around my neck. I can feel wild panic coursing through my body, because I suddenly can't breathe—I scream and kick out, but nothing comes but gasps. I couldn't breathe—dark spots appeared in my vision, my throat and neck ached and I felt as though I was floating. Then the world dropped beneath me and I fell, until my mother caught me, pulling me away from the fathomless depths of unconsciousness.

"Dove!" My mother cried urgently, giving my shoulders a little shake. I lift my head and stare at my mother, the scars distinct white trails on the left side of her body. For a second, I forget my place in our village, that I'm Annah and Catcher's little Dove, their only surviving child so full of warmth and love. Instead, I can feel my lips draw back into a half formed snarl, before I realize that my mother is holding me, no one else. I force myself into tears, and burrow my face into her shoulder. My mother happily holds me tight, thinking that I was still her little girl. The strange thing was that I was never hers to begin with.

"Catcher!" My mother calls to my father. She brushes her rough fingertips along my neck, and I know that bruises have already started to form. "She's okay. I think." And she testily pulled me back. "Are you, Dove?" She asks carefully. I nod and give her a watery smile, saying, "It's not his fault. The boy," I indicate, glancing over and watching my father and half the village wrestle him into submission. The boy has his eyes trained on me, filled with such a surprising amount of hate that I shiver. "He didn't do anything on purpose. He just…reacted. I killed the pack of breakers that his friends just joined, and I guess he thought that they were still alive…still living." My mother gets a distant look in her eye, then her attention snaps back to me. "Dove, I think he meant to hurt you. Let's go home." And she hauled me to my feet, dragging me towards home. I didn't resist one step of the way.

My mother's twin sister, Gabry, created the village. Actually, she knew what the village would look like. No one lives on the ground—we have a network of houses up in the trees, connected by rope ladders. I ease my way up a great oak, where my own house lies. I ignore my mother and run to my room, closing the door and barring it. I fling myself onto my bed, pressing my face into the well-worn sheets. There's a cot across from mine in the small room, and I have to remind myself that my brother is not going to come back to sleep in it. Ever.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Absolutely not!" I awoke to my father practically shouting. "Didn't you see that boy try to kill her? I am _not _letting Dove any where near him! She's my only daughter, and I refuse to lose her!" He ends almost hysterically. I can hear my mother talk to him quietly and soothingly, and then she addresses to whomever my father was shouting at. "I'm sorry, Nicole, but I agree with Catcher. That boy was vicious—he was strangling Dove! Do you seriously think it's a good idea to put her in that situation?" Her voice is cold and defensive. I hold my breath in anticipation, knowing that Nicole would weave her way through my parents' protective ways. To my delight, she did. "Actually, I wouldn't be putting her in that situation, _she_ would, because it's really Dove's choice, right?" I push myself up and jump out of bed because the dispute will come to an end if I don't run out in the middle of the conversation. I un-bar the door and slip out.

"She's asleep. It would be just plain rude to wake her up." My father says as I slip into the room. I opened my mouth to speak, and then swallowed dryly; my throat felt compressed and raw from being strangled yesterday, and I let out a painful wheeze instead.

Nicole is frail, mousy-looking girl with light brown hair and bright green eyes. Her skin is tan and smooth, much like mine. She's the only daughter of the Healer, whom everyone calls Healer, even Nicole. The Healer takes pride in her name and work; the fact that she is one of the most-needed people in the village makes her stubborn and proud. Nicole is following in her mother's footsteps, except she's meeker and humbler than her mother. Nicole is one of my best friends—I don't have many in general. Actually, they're just people I talk to now. I can never keep track of the conversations, or what they were about.

I leaned against my father, his skin burning, but I've grown used to the heat and enjoy it. My eyes are half-closed, and I feel ill. I can hear my parents talk hurriedly to Nicole, and I know that they're going to take me to the Healer. I know I need her desperately. My father carries me down the rope ladder over his shoulder, asking me this and that, but I ignore him because I couldn't answer him, even if I wanted to. We trot, more like drag, ourselves after Nicole to her cottage. It's less of a cottage, and more like one of the apartments my mother lived in in the Dark City. There's a basement, first floor, and second floor. The extremely sick abide on the second floor, but seeing how I was physically injured, I probably wouldn't be staying long. I wave off my bothersome parents, and lean onto Nicole as we trudge through the front door.

I know instantly that something's wrong. I shudder, gooseflesh appearing on my arms. I twist my head and see _him._ He stares at me, the same way a wolf does before it kills a lamb. He was just sitting there, reading a book, and now he's trying to burn holes through me. I hold his gaze steadily, but he doesn't look away. I can feel a blush crawl up my neck to my face as his eyes slowly scale my body. I look away, trying to ignore the fact that he was there. Nicole, completely oblivious to the tension hanging between us interrupts loudly by clearing her throat.

"Ray, this is Dove; Dove, this is Ray." Nicole chirped, leading us happily away. I shuffled quickly after, trying to look scared and nervous. Apparently, it worked, because Nicole patted my shoulder telling me everything was okay. But nothing is okay. It can't be.

"Ah, Dove, what ails you, daughter of fire?" Healer asked. I forced a painful smile and gestured to my throat. The Healer was always a bit off—she always envisioned herself as all knowing, and liked to give people strange titles, like mine: "the daughter of fire." I believe I was named that for my mother's fierce determination that never stopped her, even when she was chased by a horde and traveling through the Dark City's subway tunnels to reach my father Catcher, whose skin was flaming hot from the infection that raved inside him but never took over. Also, I earned the name for successfully burning down two trees with a home suspended in them. I wasn't even trying to destroy it...I was trying to start a fire, plain and simple. But beyond that point.

"I see, I see," Healer muttered, lifting my chin up with her pudgy fingers, brushing the bruises on my throat. "Don't talk, don't eat, breathe through your nose, and drink lots of tea…" I tuned out the rest of her advice, and stared out the window at the rows and rows of crops growing. Past that, the half-fences; they circled the upper half of the village, where anyone could fall in from the steepness. At the lower half of the village, a long moat was surrounding, dug at least twenty feet deep, and full of barbed wire. Groups would circle this area, throwing down flaming sticks and burning any and all Unconsecrated to nothing. I usually hated the smell of charred flesh and burnt hair, but when it came to the Unconsecrated I reveled in it.

I was startled from my thoughts as Nicole let out a squeal of happiness. "Thank you, Healer!" Nicole squealed. Her mother, pleased at her child's happiness but refusing to show it, simply nodded, and shooed us out of her room.

"What was that?" I asked whispering hoarsely, my throat convulsing in response. "Weren't you were listening? The Healer is going to have you stay until you 'recover'! Oh, this is going to be so much fun!" Nicole trilled. I put on an enthusiastic front. I opened my mouth to speak, but Nicole held up a hand. "Remember? You're not supposed to talk! I think I'm going to like this." She giggled. I didn't glance as we walked through the room past Ray because I could already feel his gaze burn into me the moment we stepped into the room. I knew he probably wouldn't attack me while Nicole was there; she probably settled him in. But no one wanted to upset Nicole; she was just too nice, like the way I used to be.

I follow Nicole to her room, and she already has a cot ready for me. I can tell that she has been planning this—it was one of the things she was great at. A small girl with dark skin and raven black hair stirred in the cot that I assumed was for me—I recognized her from the river. Nicole shot me a look, and gently woke up the girl, who raised her head, blinking sleepily at us. She gave a big smile at Nicole, and I retreated outside to the hallway not wanting to be spotted by the girl. I leaned against the wall next to the bedroom listening as Nicole spoke to the girl.

"Good morning, sweetheart! How d'ya feel, Isabel?" Nicole asked brightly. I listened as a small child's voice piped up loudly, stumbling over her words as she said, "I'm good. Where is Ray?" Isabel asked. I noticed that she strangely rolled her r's, just like her older brother. I felt my heart beat faster at the mention of his name.

"Ray's reading in the main room—hey, sweetie, I have a big surprise for you—remember the big girl who saved you from the river?" I know from the creaking bedsprings that Isabel is jumping up excitedly in her cot. "Yes, yes! I remember! You told me all about her! Her name is Dove! Did you bring her for me to meet?" I can hear Nicole laugh. "Kid, you're one step ahead of me, ya know that?" And she reached over through the open door and dragged me into the room. I was immediately seized around the middle—I decided it would be a bad idea to kick the child away, and instead tightly hugged her back, picking her up and balancing her on my hip. I smile at her, and she smiles back.

"I'm glad that you're okay, kiddo." I rasp, trying to force kindness into my voice but knowing I would still sound like I just climbed out from underneath a rock. Isabel smiles back at me, cupping my cheek with her frail little fingers. "I am happy, too." She chirrups, and my smile widens. A painful cough racks through my body, and I have to put Isabel down or else I'll drop her. She trusts me enough that she looks concerned—I easily ignore it, but try to reassure her anyway. "Could you two go make some tea?" I barely whisper, my eyes welling up at the pain of emitting sound. Nicole, understanding that I would prefer being alone, sweeps Isabel out after herself and takes the long task of preparing tea. I slump onto Nicole's bed, shoulders slump and head spinning. I don't know why I feel so weak—maybe because I haven't eaten in a while? Perhaps; but according to the Healer, I wasn't going to eat for a while longer, or at least until I could bear the pain of talking again.

I hear a rustle of cloth and I look up, expecting to see Isabel or Nicole, but instead flaring eyes meet mine and I know who decided to stop by.


	3. Chapter 3

By the way, I'm sure you could tell that I didn't really do anything involving the Forest of Hands and Teeth—By Carrie Ryan, not me, as always—but Harry and Mary will come up eventually. Also, you probably noticed how Catcher, Annah, Gabry, and Elias are barely used in the story—that's because this is roughly fifteen or sixteen years later, when they build a village with survivors of the Dark City. The point of me writing this was what would/could happen after Catcher, Annah, Gabry, and Elias settle down. And to those who haven't figured it out, Dove's brother is a _fraternal _twin, meaning they aren't identical (Hence the opposite genders). Also, they are the only children of Catcher and Annah.

Chapter 3

I can't express my shock that Ray is standing right there in front of me. The most I can do is give a small moan that reminds me of the Unconsecrated. The ferocity in Ray's eyes falters and I know the moan threw him off some. I took the moment as an opportunity to dodge around him—but he holds out a fist, catching me hard in the stomach. I grunt painfully and sink to my knees. I try to crawl away and to the hallway, but Ray uses his foot as a wedge between my shoulder and the ground, flinging me onto my back. I scramble backwards, but he pushes me back to the ground with a knee in my stomach. His lips bare back in a snarl, and I imitate him—I don't want him _touching_ me, I don't want anyone _touching_ me! I buck my hips to throw him off, but only succeed in throwing him onto my torso. I here a clink of metal hitting the ground, and I twist my neck and spot a machete. I squirm out from under Ray, my fingertips barely touching the metal, and—

That bastard got me! Ray wrapped one arm around my waist, slammed me against the wall, and uses his foot to hook around the blade and bring it closer towards him. He picks it up with one hand just as I lash out, catching him square in the jaw. He seems dazed for a few seconds, and I try to slip away. I throw myself out of the door just as Ray grabs my ankle, and I kick out, catching him in the chest. I hear a satisfying "oof" as I wind him. Ray refuses to let go of my ankle, and drags me back into the room. I claw desperately at the ground, but let myself go limp knowing that I wouldn't be able to escape. Ray uses the machete to roll my head so I'm looking at him. I just stare hopelessly at him, the Dove mask on. I know he can't see through it; no one can. No one knows who I really am. And deep in my heart, I'm afraid I will die unknown.

I twist and squirm, but like before, I went limp. I can feel the sharp bite of the machete's blade bear into my cheek. I close my eyes while Ray caresses the blade down my face and across my throat. _So _this_ is how I'm going to die,_ I think to myself. _On your best friend's bedroom floor, being cut to death by some maniac from outside the village. _Very_ noble, Dove; it's so much more heroic than drowning yourself._ A small, ironic smile tugs at the corner of my lips, and I felt a shift in the gravity around me. Did Ray leave me alone? Probably not, guessing by the weight that was still pinning me down. I snap my eyes open—maybe something distracted Ray? I suck in a gasp, my body tensing up. Ray's face isn't even inches from mine—and his eyes are what capture me. They're full of hope instead of hate as he frantically searches my face for something he can't find. There's some other emotion that I can't identify bright in his eyes that slowly fades away. His lips, hovering right over mine, whisper, "Where did you go?"

I blink at him, puzzled. Then the snarl slowly dawns on his face. He looks at me like I tricked him, and all to quickly he snatches a pillow off the bed and presses in into my face, smothering me. I don't start gasping or panicking. I hold my breath, my fingers dancing around on top of the pillow searching for Ray's hands. When I touch them, his hands start shaking badly and the pillow loosens up all around my face. Tentatively, I release my breath and quickly gulp in air, expecting the pillow to crush down on me. But to my surprise it doesn't, and Ray weaves his fingers through mine, thumb stroking my knuckles. "What happened to you?" He asks. My heart stutters and I try to push back a memory that I've struggled to repress. I let out a rasping, painful whimper, but it's nothing compared to the agony rips through my heart. After feeling nothing for so long, it's unbearable and I let out a scream that sounds terrifying, even to myself.

_"Jesus, what happened to _you_?" Cynthia asked, looking over the grievous wound on my upper arm. I shrugged, and took a drag on my cigarette. "I think I clipped myself on the barbed wire that you so _conveniently_ put up on the fences." I said, accusation biting my words hard. Cynthia smiled meekly at me, and squeaked, "Sorry! There were so many Mudo, I had to do something about the fences; I got the idea from the ditches bordering your village." I shrugged and walked over to look out the window; the glass was long since gone, and the wood panels inside knocked out. I leaned out of the frame, watching the Unconsecrated scramble over each other desperately. When and if they reached the fence, they would pull and tug at the fence with broken fingers. Eventually, they would be flattened by the other Unconsecrated, piling on top of each other, until they almost spilled over the top of the fence. But the newly added barbed wire prevented them from crossing in one piece. Most of the Unconsecrated lost legs or arms—a rare few decapitated themselves. But the west side of the fence had been broken through—the Unconsecrated were more than determined to enter Cynthia's little sanctuary and destroy her. The size of this mass of Unconsecrated was incorrigible. It reminded me a little of the horde that my mother described to me that had destroyed the Dark City that she lived in. Could this be the surviving scraps of the horde?_

_Cynthia sidled up next to me. "There are so many..." She murmured, wrinkling up her nose at the smell of death that floated up to us. "Eh," I shrugged, taking the butt of the cigarette and dropping it into the horde below, watching the dying embers twirl in the air before they extinguish from the wind. "I've seen more." I walk away from the window, and Jonah scowls playfully at me. "Have you two been gossiping this entire time?" Cynthia jerks her head up, and Jonah barely braced himself before Cynthia threw herself at him. "I was afraid that you didn't make it past the Mudo!" She trilled into his chest. They were young, _we_ were young, but it didn't stop Jonah and Cynthia from loving each other with every fiber of their beings. I couldn't help but smile. My brother was happy, so I was happy. I was happy that he found someone that he could rely on all the time, because I knew I wasn't always going to be there for him. I nudged the two apart with my machete, but Jonah managed to steal a kiss from Cynthia._

_"All right, lovebirds, now's not the best time for a much-cherished reunion, okay?" And I toss Cynthia her scythe. She catches it, firmly gripping the handle, and then she swings it into its holder on her back. Jonah tosses me bundle that I swing onto my shoulders, and takes the last pack. There's one set of stairs before we reach the roof, which I charge up. The moans have gotten louder, and I can feel the foundation of the building beginning to give way. I wait impatiently on the roof, the moon and stars twinkling mockingly in the sky, out of the Unconsecrated's reach, out of the world's reach, out of my reach. Cynthia and Jonah come up slowly, and Jonah walks over to the edge of the apartment roof, surveying the buildings around us, deciding which would be the easiest and safest to jump to. Cynthia pulls me to the side. _

_"I...I need to tell you something, Dove..." She says, her voice shaking. Only now do I notice how frail she looks, up here in the harsh moonlight. Cynthia's shaking and sweating, her usually tan skin now plea, almost sickly ashen like mine. Except my skin tone looks more like snow. Cynthia just looks...sick. "What is it, kid?" I asked, tilting my head to the side. She doesn't look at me when she pulls the left cuff of her trousers up, exposing her ankle. I crouch down, but I already know what I'm going to see: a bite, deep and bloody. I look away, disgusted and terrified. "How long?" I asked. There's so many answers to that question, but Cynthia knows the answer that I want. "I got bitten four or five days ago. Before you came. It was when I was putting the barbed wire up, and...my ankle was dangling over the side, and I didn't think they would be able to reach that high, but..." She shrugged, her voice shaking so hard she wasn't able to continue. Cynthia sat down next too me, rubbing her joints. "Dove, I want you and Jonah to go without me. It's fine if you go first, and Jonah goes second, but you can't let him know about my..." she gestures at her ankle. "Or he won't go." Cynthia cups my chin with one shaking, burning, infected hand. The heat was familiar, because my father's skin was the same way. "Cynthia, you're so fucking stupid, you know that?" I say, my voice cracking. Cynthia leans against me, her skin scorching mine. "Yeah, so fucking stupid..." She sighs, the energy leaking out of her. I try to hug her, but she shoves me away, accidentally sprawling herself on the ground. She tries to push herself up, but she can't, and simply rolls onto her back, groaning at the movement. I watch her chest fall and rise rapidly, each breath an enormous effort. I hear broken sobs wrack from her chest—no, they're coming from me. I tightly hug myself, unable to watch my friend die and return in front of me. She's one of the two people who actually know who I am—the other being my brother—and I can't believe that she's going to die before me. "Jonah!" I screamed._

_He runs over, seeing me, wrapped up in myself, crying my soul out. Then he sees Cynthia, lying on her back, inches away from death. He runs over, pulling her head into his lap. "Cynthia, what happened?" He asks desperately, cradling her head and smoothing down her locks of golden blonde hair. "Did you let this happen?" Jonah snarls at me. I feel my breath hitch and all I can do is shake my head and weep even harder. "Go. Away." Cynthia gasps at us, too weak to push away Jonah. He shakes his head sadly, murmuring, "No. I would never leave you. I can never leave you." I look away, out to the stars in the night sky, and the moon in its crescent-shaped smile. I hear Cynthia's last , desperate gasps for air, and then silence. I can hear Jonah start to scream—"No! Cynthia, No! Come Back to me! Please Cynthia, I love—" I don't even turn around when his cries are silenced, or when he screams so loud that his vocal cords give out. _Cynthia didn't scream when she died;_ my mind whispers to me. _She's a breaker now and you have to kill her or get out. Now. _I stop studying the moon, done with picking out constellations my uncle Elias taught me. I twist my head and I see Jonah, blood splattering his face and flowing down his shirt, streaking his already red hair. Clutching fistfuls of his shirt is Cynthia, now sitting up. Her mouth is stained red with my brother's blood. Jonah opens his mouth, and instead of a joke, he moans. It snaps me out of my stupor, because nobody moans like that unless they're Unconsecrated. Cynthia launches herself at me, but I scramble away, and leap off onto the nearest roof. I can see the horde below now clamoring for me, stumbling towards the building I was on and away from the one with fence around it. Their moans consume me, and I'm acutely aware that the moans have grown louder by two voices, and then they quiet by two moans as my brother and my friend step off their roof in attempt to follow me. _

_And I scream. I need to be louder than the horde, to know that when I open my mouth to suck in a lungful of air that I'm not moaning, too. I vault myself from roof to roof to roof. I scream and scream until I can't scream anymore. I reach the last building on the edge of the crumbling city, I can't be farther away than a mile from my village. I scramble down a rusting fire escape, my breath catching every now and then. I drop down, grateful for the solid ground beneath my feet. Behind me is the horde, ahead is salvation. I push myself up and walk, because I need the strength that I have left. If I start running again, I'll tire myself out and need to rest. And very second spent not moving is a second lost. I trudge on and up the steep mountain, through winding paths that are supposed to make the climb easier, but my muscles are screaming in protest anyway._

_And then he hits me from the side, knocking both of us to the ground. His dead lips press against my neck and skin along my jaw, as if in disbelief that he had me to himself to infect. I scream and roar and kick at the infected boy, but he fights back even harder, pinning me firmly to the cold earthen ground. Finally deciding where the killing blow will land, he lunges at my cheek. I remember promising my brother that I would kill myself before I got infected. But before I can slit my own throat, blood splatters across my face as my father cuts through the arteries, vocal cord and spine of the breaker. He picks me up, and walks determinedly to our village. My mother awaits us at the bridge, which is jerked back as soon as my father takes one step on it. I can hear the horrid moaning of the Unconsecrated as they struggle up the mountainside. _

_"Catcher, where's Jonah?" My mother asks breathlessly, hugging me tightly. When my father says nothing, my mother turns to me. "Dove, where's your brother? Where's Jonah?" I can't say anything, because my emotions are spent and what happened to me is beyond words. I can feel my lips move as I stare into the taunting moon that we can't touch and the __stars __we can only see. My father finally speaks up. "Annah, I'm so sorry, I found him broken and he kept reaching towards the village and I couldn't kill him, I'm so sorry Annah, I just couldn't..." And he kneels down beside us. My mother uses her other arm to encircle him tightly. She tries to soothe us with her broken voice, but I've closed off my heart and mind and nothing can reach me through my emptiness._

My entire body tenses up, and the pillow is thrown off and away from me; I could hear Nicole and Raven talk to each other loudly as they enter the house. Ray slips off and away from me, padding silently down the hall and away from the room.

The first scream is what jolts me up. The second is just to move me faster. I let out a shriek as scalding-hot water splashes onto my leg. I scramble back, hissing under my breath. Across from me is shattered mug, steaming murky water splashed around it. I look up and see Nicole and Isabel standing there; Isabel seems to be terrified at the sight of me, and Nicole seems surprised how much I hurt myself in such a sort amount of time.

"So," I say, observing the blood mixing with the murky water on the ground. I begin to pick pieces of shattered pottery out of my leg from the mug that Isabel had dropped.. "No tea, huh?"


	4. Chapter 4

**PLEASE R&R! I need to hear your ideas**!

Chapter 4

I had been given my own room on the second floor. I stared out the window, which had its own rarity: glass. Of course, the glass was warped, dirty, and tinted a dark gray color, being made of other scraps of glass melted and cooled together. Nonetheless, it was precious and valuable.

There was a groan as someone stepped on the floor boards, and I directed my gaze to my door. Someone gently nudged the door open, and I winced as the joints let out a horrific squeak in the still night silence. I didn't see anyone enter my room, and I was more than surprised when a weight edged its way onto the base of my bed. I drew my legs back, and I could see the dark mass crouching there, at the foot of my bed. It blinked at me with intelligent eyes, one brown and one blue, like a cat. I let my muscles relax, and slowly let out my breath. The cat tilted its head to the side, looking at me curiously, shifting its weight slightly. The entire bed was jostled at the slight movement, but it wasn't a good bed. I stared at the cat, the intruder to my room. All right, a cat had just crept onto my bed. A very _large_ cat. Perhaps a very _dangerous_ cat...

"You're not going to hurt me, are you?" I asked the cat. It didn't do anything, showing me nothing with its eyes. "No, you wouldn't simply hurt me, you would kill me. And if you wanted to kill me, you would've done that already, yes?" I paused and looked out the window, watching the moon shine down, its beams barely filtering through the window across from me on the other side of the room. "But then again, maybe you wouldn't. You're a hunter and I am the prey. Maybe you enjoy torturing your prey, letting them stew in their own fear and regret and terror and pain before taking their lives? Most cats do. And I think that's what we have in common, my feline friend." I grinned and leaned in towards the cat, whose eyes looked at me with a fair amount of disgust and interest. I sighed and leaned back against the hard wall. "Well, not exactly. I enjoy the kill above everything else, but...what I hunt comes willingly to me and I kill long after they begged for mercy." I looked back at the cat, pinning it with my gaze.

"I think that's why the Unconsecrated moan and follow us. I think that they're filled with so much pain that their words are incomprehensible so that all they can do is moan." I paused. "I think that I'm merciful for ending their lives, so that they won't have to feel pain anymore. I think that the only reason they infect us—well, I shouldn't use that word, because I think we're equal, but anyway—is because we're not saving them fast enough and they try to show us the urgent need to end the pain. So they infect us, trying to make us end their lives faster by showing us the pain they're forced to deal with every second of every day of every year until they're nothing." I sucked in a breath. "And then I think about my brother." I say quietly, and my heart tears itself in half. "And how I didn't end his suffering." My heart is torn into quarters. "I could have. But then I looked at him, and my best friend, and I thought to myself that that's my _brother._ If I really believed that he was still living, how would I bury a knife into his head? Even if he _was_ in so much pain?" I let out a whimper, pressing my fist over my heart, needing to feel the thump-thump-thumpa-thumpa-thump to know that it was still beating after being ripped into so many pieces. I'm winded from this horrible feeling that rips through my body, and I let out a few hoarse wheezes before I answer my own question.

"It's been three years and I still don't know how to respond to that question." I whispered raggedly. "I think, if I was put in that same situation again, I would just stand there. I wouldn't run but stand there and endure the same pain that Jonah felt, because it's been _three GODDAMN **years** _since I left him on that building." I sniffled and let out a choked cry. I can tell that the cat is appalled at my outburst. I wearily continue. "I swore that after my brother died, I would do something or be something to always remember him. But all I've done is pretend that I'm someone I used to be, to the village, at least, and completely drain myself of all emotion. And then I tried to kill myself because life wasn't worth living anymore." I look up at the cat, whose shocked at my words. "I almost ended it all."

"Almost."

"And then that group of people came running up. I saved the little girl, Isabel, but her brother Ray, I wouldn't say that I saved him. He acts like I condemned him to a fate worse than death. He thought that his friends were still well, that they were all right and salvagable. But they weren't." I took a deep breath, noting the look of undisguised pain in the cat's eyes. "I think he loved the girl that turned into a breaker. And I killed her." I closed my eyes, tears leaking out of the corners. "But I think that if he really loved her, he wouldn't have let that old man take him away. I know, it's petty and judgmental and just plain rude. But still..." The cat's eyes were staring at me, wide in disbelief. Then they narrowed in anger and hatred, a feral snarl escaping from the creature. I raised my hands. "It's just what I think. It's how my brother died, holding the person he loved most as she died in his arms. He didn't care that Cynthy was gonna come back and kill him, he just wanted to be with her until the very end. If it was someone else, I might have been able to make him come with me. But Cynthia wash't some other person, she was everything to Jonah." I looked up at the cat, who looked like it was going to pounce on me and tear out my throat. I smiled sadly at the cat, knowing that it couldn't see me anyway. But my voice was enough to show how I felt: laden with misery and pain and sadness. "You shouldn't listen to me. I'm just...just so fucking stupid." I let out a broken sob and wrapped my arms around myself; I'm afraid that if I didn't I would explode. "Those were some of my last words to Cynthia, you know that? She was infected and so close to being one of them, and for the last minutes of her life I told her she was fucking stupid. And you know what? _I'm_ fucking stupid. I just wish...wishing never gets anyone anywhere," I say sharply, interrupting my own thoughts. "'If's' don't either, and saying "some day" is another way of saying "never." And when you say "never," it just means that you're going to do it." I stop, breathing hard, watching the dreaded sun start to climb up in the sky. I choke up something, placing my fingers to my lips and holding it out to the first rays of dawn. Blood. I spit a mouthful of the copper-tasting liquid out onto the ground. I now understand why the Healer dictated me not to speak—and I know to take her advice now. Without glancing at the cat, I slink my way under the covers.

The cat could find its own way out.


	5. Chapter 5

**PLEASE R&R OR PM!**

Chapter 5

The week had gone by with a surprising amount of pain. I was so consumed with myself—absorbed in the moments of my brother's death, and I did something I'd never done before: I imagined what I would have done. I had always put the past behind me, because what happened happened. What's done is done, and actions speak louder than words. But I thought constantly about my brother. I thought about a thousand different endings to his story. In all of them, he didn't end up Unconsecrated.

But in my reality, he did.

I thought I had no chance of being brought back to this world. I thought that there was no way I would feel anything again, ever. But that boy—Ray—had made me remember feeling. The ghosts of feeling, anyway. But now it was coming back, if not slowly. And the first emotion that returned, among others? Pain. I forgot how many ways that you could suffer, emotionally wise. It was horrible. I would wake every morning with guilt twisting in my stomach and wretchedness every afternoon, with gut-wrenching misery settling in by nightfall. I hated being like this, to remember that it's _my _fault that my only brother, only sibling was dead, _my_ fault that a boy wished to ruthlessly spill my blood, _my _fault_, my _fault_, my_ fault_…_

Which is why I find myself standing in front of the river.

I had no particular reason to be there if anyone asked; I would just say that I had come here to think, perhaps. I knew that when my body was found, Ray would be pinned with my murder when it was actually suicide. But I had ensured that he would be under a watchful eye; he was in my place to help Nicole with chores, little Isabel tagging along. They would be far up in the trees, where everyone would see them. Hopefully they wouldn't finish chores early, or came down to fetch something. Then things would get tricky.

I remembered when the last time I tried this, how it had been interrupted. I look out through the fence; Unconsecrated have gathered around, broken skeletal fingers poking through and tugging at the fence, their pain so great that all they can do is moan. I walk over and lean my forehead against the fence, watching them. I stare deeply into a boy's eyes, the only Unconsecrated there whose eyes had not been scratched milky-blue blind from branches whipping out of the trees. I can feel a horrible tug at my heart, accompanied by fresh wave of aching hurt. This boy couldn't have turned too long ago. His eyes are breathtaking, beautiful blue swirling pools of hunger and want. I press my fingertips against the fence, and he manages to stuff his fingers through the chain link, and squeezes my own hand tightly. I feel tears well up in my eyes. It's almost soothing, and I close my eyes and pretend that a dear friend is comforting me. But then reality comes stampeding in and the boy moans, his lips brushing my forehead. I remember the feeling from when the breaker caught me on the path all those years ago…

"I'm sorry," I whisper to no one in particular. I climb up onto the shaky turret, pick up the crossbow and shoot the Unconsecrated boy in the head. He falls to his knees slowly, the light in his eyes fading, and I can imagine what he looked like before he was infected: sweet and kind and loving, young and innocent and totally undeserving of this death. My arms, shaking so badly now, are unable to hold the crossbow, which drops to a clatter at my feet. I'm not strong enough to kill the rest of them. I noisily wipe away my tears, and I climb down from the turret, not even bothering to land properly and smacking painfully into the ground.

I can't deal with this grief and agony. I'm going to end it before things spin put of control.

How ironic. They already have.

I don't even try to take a breath as I plunge my head underwater. The cold shock winds me, and I react by trying to suck in a breath, but obviously only fill my lungs with water. I cough and splutter, pulling in more water still. Dark spots appear in my vision and I…I can't…I…

-xxx-

Dark.

Cold.

Nothing.

I'm pulled into the deepest recesses of my mind, and I know that I'm dying or already dead. I can't help but feel a little disappointed: my life didn't even flash before my eyes. All I saw was dark spots and all I felt was heaviness, and now…and now I don't even know what.

It would be interesting if I relived my memories in my head; my life was not a boring one. Jonah and I would run all around the destroyed city, trying to kill as many Unconsecrated as we could. I loved the fear that I would get as we hit a dead end in an alley, and the adrenaline that would run through my veins as I ran from breakers. I knew what it was like to live in mortal peril—I relished the feeling. I loved how anything could go, like how my brother and I would feel no guilt as we sprinted through the streets, screaming swears so loudly and obnoxiously we would bend over in laughter. We would go through ruins and wreckages of the city, exploring what used to be Maryland. Jonah's favorite place were the museums there; more than once we explored the National Aquarium. The creatures inside weren't cared for after the return, so their carcasses were somewhat preserved in their tanks. A few creatures had survived, though: stingrays and the jellyfish. Some of the creatures completely dependent on humans for its survival were long since dead, like the orca whales and dolphins. I read about how smart they were, but apparently not smart enough to find food. But that was asking too much of them, seeing how they were enclosed in a concrete tank void of all life except for themselves.

I loved how the hidden light had played off the water in the tanks, giving this haunting effect that still sends a shiver down my back. If I had looked up, I would see shadows of the water playing on the ceiling and walls, giving a hauntingly eerie effect of abandonment. I was scared out of my mind when we found the sharks—someone had cracked their tank open, and more than a few had spilled out. The biggest one was at least fifteen feet long, and at its thickest point, three and a half feet in diameter. It was a monster back before the return, but nowadays nothing could trump the fear of the Unconsecrated or being infected.

The shark, whose information plaque read it to be a Great White shark, didn't seem at all ferocious. Its body was decaying, and the eyeballs that were once black and shiny were shriveled up little bags with rotten juices inside. I remember how the teeth were falling out of the bacteria-eaten jaw, and how Jonah and I each found the biggest teeth we could find, he making his into a necklace, and mine into the charm to a bracelet that I no longer wore. It was a memorial to the Great White that was great no more.

One of the most awful places we had explored, from my point of view, was the airport. I went through the wrong entrance, and I lost Jonah. I didn't know where he went or where he was and I had no idea where he could be. I was screaming at the top of my lungs for him, and the Unconsecrated were quickly swarming to me from behind broken desks and shops and collapsed staircases. I vaguely remember pushing through the quickly forming horde, and out the door. Jonah was in one of the planes, I knew, but which one, I didn't. I remember my muscles screaming at me to _go go go._ I remember sweat trickling down the back of my neck and frizzing up my hair. I think that I had climbed on top of the largest plane, sitting perfectly still on the sloped, smooth surface because I was afraid of slipping off and falling into the horde. It was terrifying.

The worst part was when the pilots broke the glass out of the nose of the plane, with passengers tumbling out and over each other, scrabbling over other bodies trying to reach me. I was closing my eyes and screaming Jonah's name as loud as I could, but when I opened them, the Unconsecrated were gone, and Jonah was there. I was so happy that I almost hugged him, but I knew that if I did we would both be tumbling off the plane and to certain death below. I remember walking unsteadily to the edge of the wing and jumping off, onto hard concrete and just inches away from grasping fingers. Jonah actually landed on top of me, and I had started swearing at him and my bruises angrily, limping away determinedly. I remember my brother laughing at me and shouting tauntingly at the Unconsecrated behind us, unable to keep up with our brisk pace.

Even as I banished the hazy memory from my thoughts, I could still hear shouting, a faint buzzing in the back of my mind. I tried to delve myself deeper into the nothingness that surrounded me, muting the world, and I could feel myself slipping away. I realized that what I thought was muted shouting was just fierce whispering, right in my ear. Something warm pressed against my lips, and air was breathed into my lungs, searing my body with uncomfortable warmth. It might not have affected me, but another lungful of air was forced into mine. I turned my head, coughing up river water. It was bright and loud, and I just…what was happening?...I needed to…I…oh, god…

I vomited up large amounts of water that I tried to drown myself with. The warmth that was in my body quickly passed, and I was cold and shivering, my entire body soaking with water. I couldn't make sense of any of my surroundings, and the world focused and unfocused around me in bright, pulsating colors. It was bright and it hurt my head so much. I pushed myself up, trying to walk. I needed to walk off this waterlogged feeling. As soon as I was completely upright, the world tilted and swayed, until it was completely sideways, and all I could see was water and sand. I swore, and pushed myself up off the riverbanks. I was tucked against a pleasantly warm body, and I tried to push away, but they wouldn't let me. We stumbled to a large brownish structure, and as we got closer I recognized it as the Healer's house. The person who dragged me out of the river helped me into the house, lingering behind me as I crawled up the stairs and to my room. When they tried to help me with any obstacle I would scratch at them and push away. If I was going to live, I was going to live independently.

Once I reached my room, I leaned against the wall while the person dawdled in the doorway. I could barely make out their stutters as I stripped of my wet clothing and snaked my way into my bed, burrowing under the covers. My eyes, still bleary but getting much better very quickly could make out a tall, lean form gently closing the door, their eyes on me as I closed my eyes and fell to a soft sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**As always, I own nothing from the Forest of Hands and Teeth, The Dead-Tossed Waves or The Dark and Hollow Places, which all belong to Carrie Ryan.**

Chapter 6

No one seemed to notice how worn out I was, how depressed and saddened I had become by the latest turn of events. I was tired and it took so much energy to push through the days in my Dove mask. I couldn't keep this up, and I knew it. I couldn't keep smiling past my pain and grief and memories. I didn't know who had taken me from the river, but I was frustrated and angry with them. It didn't matter who they were; I was just angry. It couldn't have been any of my parents or their friends, because I would've gotten so much grief from "falling" into the river. I could barely remember what the person who had "saved me" looked like; they were just a blurry silhouette, tall and lean.

I think Ray noticed the change in me. There was a tiny crack in my Dove mask, and he could just barely see the person underneath. I think that's why he spared my life and didn't suffocate me with a pillow, because I had let my guard down and he actually _saw_ me, not the imitation that works on everyone so well, but the real me, and he liked what he saw. That brought my mind to when Ray first arrived, when he pinned me up against the fence and told me that he had seen me before. If he'd seen me before, and believed that I deserved to die, how come he spared me when he could have killed me? Obviously he knew how terrible I was if he saw me in Baltimore, but then Ray seemed to…_care_ about me when he was smothering me. I ruled out everything in my mind about Ray, and put down one label for him: dangerous. He had tried to kill me twice already, and I was expecting another attack. I don't like Ray and I'm sure that he's opposed to me as well.

I was past the bruising on my neck, and I was allowed to speak as much as I wanted. Not that I wanted to, but I still had to make everyone believe my Dove front.

"Dove, can you braid my hair?" Nicole asked me. "Yeah, suuure," I yawned, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. I picked up a brush and dragged it through Nicole's hair. She let out a squeak of pain. "Ow! OW!" She cried and jumped up. I shrugged, saying, "I have to brush your hair before I braid it." Nicole glared at me. "I already brushed it," She said indignantly. "Yeah, but not _well,_" In the corner of my eye, I could see Ray shaking with laughter. I noticed how he had been watching me lately, this strange glow in his eyes that I couldn't describe. I expected him to say something vicious to me, but he didn't. I struggled to not notice how he watched me. Sometimes, he almost touched me, like when we passed each other in the halls. Yesterday, for example, I was trying to draw a tree. It didn't turn out how I thought it would, with the branches being Unconsecrated hands reaching at the sky and air and ground. I don't remember doing it, but I made the tree underwater, so it would seem like it wasn't reaching at the faces of the people, and I made the faces into seaweed and other aquatic plants, like clumps of algae. Ray had come up behind me, watching me draw and color the picture. "I like it," He had breathed in my ear, his hand resting on mine, which was holding the paper in place as I painted the water green-blue. I had dropped my rough, dirty paintbrush as soon as Ray touched me. His hands were rough and calloused from hard work, and I liked the way it felt on my own skin, but I hated that it was Ray who made my skin crawl like that. I had refused to move until he left, and then I burned the picture and paintbrush and poured the berry-paints into the grass outside.

I ignored Ray, and let my hair fall in curtain, so he would be out of my vision. I didn't want him there or anywhere else I was. I convinced Nicole to sit down again, promising that this time I wouldn't rip her hair out of her head. I gently brushed her hair so it became light and frizzy, and then quickly braided it before it got tangled. "_Voila_, a perfect braid," I said, picking up her braid and then dropping it again. Nicole rolled her eyes and stood up, taking a bucket from the table.

"I'm going to the river to get some water. Want to come?" She asked. I could feel my muscles tense up, and a feel of water flashed across my skin for a fleeting moment. I resisted the urge to shudder, and forced a smile on my face. "Nah. I think I'll pass." Nicole shrugged and walked out the door. I let out a shaky breath and rubbed my temples, almost falling apart. I turned slightly so my back was to Ray. He didn't need to see me like this, torn to pieces. I struggled to hold back my tears by tilting my head to the ceiling and blinking rapidly. At first, I believed it to work, and then the trauma that I had experienced from the river came rushing back. I let out a whimper and hunched over, holding my hands to my stomach. Tears streamed down my cheeks and I bit my lip so I didn't start bawling. I gulped in more and more shaking breaths. How had I come to this so quickly? My mind singled out whom to blame: me. It's my fault that I tried to cover everything up, my fault that my brother was dead, my fault that I had tried to drown myself…hadn't I gone through this little episode of self-hate already? Yes. I had. I quickly pinpointed the cause of all this stress, despair and self-pity: Ray. He made me remember how to feel and react and think. I needed to get away from him before any more harm came to me.

I jumped and ran upstairs, into my temporary room. My parents had transported most of my clothing—not that I had much—to the Healer's house. I pulled a rough cloth sack out from under the bed, throwing in a dress, my various undergarments, a shirt and pair of trousers. I rapped a bowie knife in a rag and carefully placed it in the sack, along with a stone for sharpening. I would keep my machete strapped to my hip, the replacement blade wrapped up with the back-up bowie knife. I shoved the sack back under the bed, and hurriedly wiped away my tears. I was going to leave tomorrow.

No. Tonight.

-xxx-

I was going to wait until moon high, and then I would slip out of the house. I shifted underneath the covers impatiently, the possibilities of where I would go and what I would do filling my mind. I could go to the Forest of Hands and Teeth, or better yet, Vista. My "grandparents," Mary and Harry, had helped stabilizing Vista so it was completely independent and self-sufficient. Mary had eventually stepped down from her position in taking back Vista. She and Harry then rebuilt most of the villages in The Forest of Hands and Teeth, recovering what they could. Trade was now between all the villages in the Forest and Vista. My own village, being hundreds of miles away, could not trade with the other villages, but my father would go to the Forest and Vista, assuring them that our village was still standing strong. I still the proper map routes that would safely and quickly take me to Vista. And from Vista is the Forest, and past the forest is the Dark City...which is destroyed beyond belief. The City was one place I could _not_ go.

As I ran the countless possibilities of where I could go that was already safe, a weight crept onto my bed. I sat up abruptly, straining my eyes in the darkness for the outline of the cat. Lately, he (I determined that the cat was male after the ferocity I had seen in his eyes) had been coming each night, watching me. Sometimes I wouldn't talk, I would just stare at the cat, trying to figure out why he was here. He would always leave before dawn, and would run away when I tried to pet him or get close to him. I talked non-stop to him, or if he wasn't there, I would try not to keep myself up at night with all the things I was bursting to say. But by now, I had told the cat everything. I had nothing more to say, and instead of being hollow, every word I uttered filled me with regret and hurt. Especially what I told that cat…

I tried to smile at the cat, but failed miserably. '"Well…I guess this is going to be the last time I'll be seeing you…but we never exactly saw each other in the first place, huh?" I say. The cat tilts his head to the side curiously. I grinned humorlessly at him. "I'm leaving, as soon as I'm sure that everyone is asleep. And no, I'm not _just_ leaving the Healer's house; I'm leaving the entire village." I saw something like horror sink into the cat's eyes. "Tell my parents that…I never loved them. I mean, they were extremely nice and I enjoyed living with them, but I never _loved_ them. I like them a great deal, though, and I would be upset if some misfortune were to befall them. Tell my cousins I found them greatly annoying, and let my aunt and uncle know that they need to control their children better, because they were a pain in the ass. _My_ ass, to be more specific." I paused, observing the cat. He stared at me, amusement and sadness in his eyes. He always seemed to be amused by me. I stretched, listening as my joints popped. "Oh, right, you can't talk," I yawned. "So my message is kind of useless, eh?" I rolled my neck, the joints cracking. "Well, at least someone heard. Better you than them, really." I jerked my chin towards the door.

"Everyone would flip if they ever heard me talking like that. So, screw them, they don't get anything. I don't want to hear them or seem them, shocked out of their minds out how I talk and act and look. I know that something about me looks…different when I don't pretend to be what I'm not. I know I look a whole lot different. I like that." I kicked my covers off, and they fell short of the cat, who stared at me, surprised. I crossed my legs. "Don't worry, kitty, I'm not leaving just yet." I sighed, looking at the window. The moon was in the sky, but it wasn't high enough yet. I had made myself a promise and I was going to keep it. I closed my eyes. Moon high. You can wait that long, I tell myself.

"I think my favorite part about you so far is that you're not going to tell me off for speaking my thoughts. You're not going to shut me down before I really get going. But not that I get going anymore." I looked forlornly at the cat, who stared sadly back at me. I leaned forward to pet him, as a good-bye, but he leaned away like I was Unconsecrated. I took my hand back, expecting the cat to hiss at me and slink off and out the door angrily. "Sorry," I muttered moodily, the apology slipping from my lips. Sure, it sounded bitter and reluctant, but I meant it. Apologies don't come easily from me, but when I say it I mean it. The cat hesitated, and stayed on my bed. I felt like he was questioning me with his eyes, and for a few idiotic moments, I couldn't figure out what he was asking me.

"I'm leaving my village because…I can't handle myself anymore." I say wearily. "Well, I can't handle my emotions. I can't control all the pain I've been feeling lately. I even tried to kill myself, but someone stopped me from actually killing myself. They had no right," I spat angrily. "I would've been better off dead. Well, I'm going to die anyway, but it'll probably be while I'm fighting for my life, not when I feel sorry for myself. I'm going to leave a note for everyone, and all it's going to say is: 'I left because of myself.' I don't want people to think Ray killed me. I mean, as much as I hate him, he doesn't deserve to be blamed for something he didn't do, right? It wouldn't be fair. And life isn't fair, I know, but in a matter of fairness, everyone should be given a chance.

"Sometimes, I think I should make it look like Ray killed me." I barely whispered. "He made me feel again. And I know that that's good, but…not like this. I feel so much pain and I hate it. It's all I feel and I want it to stop but I can't stop and it's all because Ray said one little thing to me and it started a whole chain reaction and oh god, I can't deal with it anymore!" I said in one breath, my words running into each other, I press my hands over my heart, and it seemed to beat sloppily, _thump, thump, thumpa thump._ "Ray makes me feel so much pain, and I just, I want it all to end, and all I can do to stop it is get away." I sobbed, tears streaming down my face. The cat edged closer to me, a look of compassion burning bright in his eyes. With a trembling hand, I reached out to pet him, and I could see a look of regret in his eye. I tried to scratch him between the ears, but he had none. I ran my fingers over the top of his head, thinking maybe some cruel owner cut them off. But no, he didn't have ears on top of his head. His hair was too shaggy to be a cats', and had a different quality off softness that was much different from fur. I tried to swallow my shock as "the cat" took my hand in his scarred one and pressed it against his cheek.

"I'm so sorry." Ray whispered. I kept gaping like a landed fish. I gently pulled my hand away, and struggled to light the oil lamp next to me. I need to see him to confirm what is happening. My hands, shaking like mad, slipped when I struck the flint. A shower of sparks illuminated the dark room, and for a second, Ray's eyes flickered that beautiful dark color when there was light. When the sparks died, they were blue and brown. I ignored Ray as he struggled to explain himself.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to trick you like that, and it was cruel. I wanted to be closer to you and that seemed like the best way at the time. Dove, I know I tried to kill and I know that I definitely harmed you. I hated who you acted to be because you seemed so…_fake_. And I hated that and I hated how you covered up your bad side. And then when I was trying to…you know what happened. You smiled, and you looked so different, so beautiful. I wanted to know why you didn't show people how you were, because you were perfect. I mean, you _are_ perfect. And then you pretended to be someone you weren't again, and it felt so cruel; I was wondering the rest of the day if that was a trick or not, because I felt like you had been taken away from me. And then every now and then you would slip with your cover, and I saw the _real_ you, and I wanted you so much that it hurt.

"And Dove?" He asked, his eyes sparkling as he leaned in close to me. I struck the flint again, lighting the oil lamp. I turned and stared at Ray, who was eating me up with his eyes, as if he couldn't believe that he was finally responding to me after all those nights we had one-sided conversations. "We were walking on that thin line between love and hate. And that hate was so consuming, I lost sight of who I was and who I loved. Dove, you wouldn't believe how much easier it is to love someone instead of hate them. Dove, I don't hate you, I—" He started to say, but I cut him off. "You don't need to connect the dots for me," I snapped angrily. But Ray looked amused, as always, like he knew me. And then, with a sudden jolt, I realized that he _did_ know me. He knew the outline of my life so far and it enraged me.

"Ray, I swear to god if you keep looking so smug I'll kill you," I snarled. I pushed my way off the bed and snatched my sack out from under the bed. I grabbed one of the pillows from the bed, and bracing it against the window, I broke the glass and it fell out of the house with a soft tinkle. I dropped my pack after it, and I almost jumped out of the window when Ray seized me around the waist and pressed me against the wall. "You're actually leaving?" He asked, mortified. I couldn't help but smirk at him. "That's what I said I was doing, right?" and fell out the window.


	7. Chapter 7

To anyone who is reading this: I'm sorry that I took so long to make this new chapter; I'm something of a counselor at a camp that I've been going to since I was five. I took two sessions—and that's all there is—and it's an all week camp; I get home at about four. And then an hour and a half later I have to run to go to swim practice. So I don't have a lot of time to write, period. But thanks for waiting!

Chapter 7

I heard soft thump behind me as Ray jumped out the window. I shouldered my sack, and ran as fast as I could. I knew where I was going and what I had to do; Ray didn't, because in his mind all he had to do was follow me and not let either of us get infected. I skittered and dodged around trees, skidding to a stop a few meters away from the channel that surrounded the lower part of the village. I walked roughly a mile west of the bridge, wincing as the moans of the Unconsecrated drifted up from the trench. I didn't slow down; because I could Ray's footsteps close behind, falling lightly as he ran after me. Sometimes he was so close that I could feel his warm breath on the back of my neck. It was times like those that I wanted to give up, but I didn't. I knew I wouldn't be happy if I stayed. My muscles screamed in protest as I pushed myself even harder, doing my best to stay away from Ray.

I took a sharp turn around Ray, and I angled my feet so I would skid to a stop in front of the trench. I couldn't get enough traction, so I skidded over the side; but that was all right, because there was a small platform there to gradually lower people into the trench. There was only one, which was right where I fell. I could hear Ray cry out, and I took the opportunity to launch myself into the tunnels ahead of me, my chest and ribcage slamming painfully into the earthen wall below the tunnel before I could push the rest of my body up into the tunnel. I could hear Ray shout my name for what felt like the millionth time. As always, I ignored him.

I had to wedge my body through the narrow, dark, claustrophobic turns of the tunnel. I remember how my mother would tell me stories of how she had escaped the infested Dark City through subway tunnels; how there was no light or life, only darkness and death and cold. Only now does my mind flash back to that, because I can only compare the situations. Only that my need to travel this tunnel is not at all as dire and life-saving as my mother's; it's vain and selfish. I felt my breath escape me in gasps as I pushed on to the end of the tunnel, which was slightly more compressed.

I could hear the moans of the Unconsecrated, and I let out a sharp swear. Of course they would wait for me here, instead of barreling over into the trench. They still had their instincts. I crawled out of the tunnel and onto land. Already I could feel dead, bony fingers scraping against my skin and pulling hungrily at my shoulders. An Unconsecrated girl fell on me, tangling her fingers in my hair and tilting my head back, throat exposed. I let out a gurgling cry and fell all the way back when the girl tried to rip out my throat. More and more Unconsecrated closed in, and I could feel weight and small pinches all over my body. I was pleased that I was heavily clothed—but the Unconsecrated would chew through my clothes eventually.

The sensation of dead skin ultimately covering my own was too much—it brought back awful memories and feelings. As I screamed and pushed and struggled, I could here a small whoosh in the air and a grimacing thud as a bolt met its target. I heard the repeats of the noise—one, two three, four, five, six times more—before there was only one Unconsecrated left moaning. I threw her off easily, and ran for the path in the woods. I could still hear Ray screaming my name, and the horrible ringing in my ears.

-xxx-

I slid down into the city—this was far, and I didn't know the twists and turns quite yet. I studied one building that seemed vaguely familiar, with tall chain link fences with barbed wire on top. I felt my heart give a stutter. No. This wasn't her house; it just looked like it. One side of chain link would be demolished if it were _her_ house. But I was still left wheezing painfully as I walked away.

I started recognizing old routes, buildings and so on. I hadn't been down here for three years, but I still knew my way through the wrecked city. The map that I had in my mind was hazy, and I definitely needed more information before I started my way to Vista. Also, I wasn't my father; if there was a horde or large amount of Unconsecrated anywhere, I wouldn't be able to pass through them like my father, I would be ripped apart in their mad dash to devour me. I skidded to a stop in front of a still-standing building, veering into it. If I could find any information in it, any at all…

I froze when I heard moaning. It was soft, and sounded more like a child crying than Unconsecrated moaning. I didn't call out or try to search for the child; it was none of my concern or responsibility. I still had my oil lantern; I wasn't desperate enough to light it again, because Ray would be able to find me easily. Of course I assumed that he had no experience in tracking and hunting, but you can never be sure.

I finally gave up and lit the lamp, giving up darkness on roughly the sixth time I tripped over the same chair. The house that I was in seemed completely undisturbed; minus the fact a thick layer of dust covered everything. I walked slowly up to a bookcase, running my finger along the spines of the books. I squinted in the poor reading light, trying to make out words. Most of the titles were worn off, or completely distorted by the elements leaking through the holes in the building. I gently eased a book off the shelf, the cover reading: GEOGRAPHY OF THE UNITED STATES. Hopefully this could tell me where I was.

The first few pages that I flipped open crumbled in my fingers, but I eventually got to the middle, and I found my state: Maryland. Where I was now was in Baltimore…Annapolis was very close by; I would go there next. I quickly turned the page; there were roughly two states in between Maryland and New York: New York held Vista, the Forest of Hands and Teeth, and the Dark City, which was completely inhabitable, even for me. I quickly picked out the VISTA, imprinted darkly on the yellowing, fragile paper. I created my passage quickly: from route 97 to 301, which should take me across a large expanse of water. Hopefully the bridge wasn't swarmed with Unconsecrated or collapsed after so many years.

From 301 I would go to 130, all the way to 95, and from 95 I would go to Vista. If the world had drastically changed the area, my entire plan would fall apart and I would definitely die. If I strayed from my path, I would get lost and die. If I took too much time, I would die. So either way, this plan was going to end in my demise, and my efforts would be futile. But I had to try.

I just had to.

I hurriedly stuffed the book into my bag; it was more than useful. I also took several other books, but more than half of them practically disintegrated on contact. My heart pounded in my chest as the cries got louder—I also got more irritated. I snatched my oil lamp off the table and quickly located the stairs leading to the basement, stomping down them. The darkness almost swallowed me up—the smell definitely did. I gagged and held my stomach as it began to heave—but seeing as how I had not eaten, nothing would come up. My eyes watered at the overwhelming scent of sickly-sweet decay, and the flesh-crawling scent of death. My oil lamp cast an eerie light over the room—the ground beneath my feet was hard concrete, but it had still managed to be stained by the dried blood. The white paint on the walls was peeling off, curling into jagged claws. I winced at the main sight on the floor: a child, extremely small, its gender impossible to tell. It was wading in a pool of its own filth and organs. Someone had sliced the Unconsecrated child straight down the stomach, its organs spilling out and flowing over the floor; the blood now dried, flaky brown patches on the floor. The child itself seemed to have been flayed and mauled all at once, its flesh hanging off its body in tatters, splintered bones poking out, looking like spikes. Broken teeth snapped angrily at me, and the moaning began once again. The Unconsecrated child tried to crawl towards me, but it had one ankle chained to the floor. I crouched just out of reach of the child, boring my gaze into its perfect almond eyes, the only thing left untouched.

I searched for a look of pain, and strained to hear agony in the cry. But all I could hear was want and hunger and need. All I could see was unbearable, insane, up-the-wall-driving—

Before I even realized it, My machete flashed out and decapitated the child. Numbly, I stood up, wiped the blade off on my skirt, and walked up the stirs. I had begun to scare myself.


	8. Chapter 8

**Things have been going on at my house, like a power outage that lasted more than a few days. Also, guitar. Also, a weeklong sleep-away camp at a Virginia camp. Also: WARPED TOUR! F*** YEAH! Pretty much got grinded on by these two sweaty dudes in the mosh pit, though…whatever. All Time Low is so worth it.**

**Also: I don't own the Forest of Hands and Teeth. **

**Thought you might want to know.**

Chapter 8

I've decided that I hate bridges.

There was really no way to get around this one. I ran my fingers through my hair, and stood on my tiptoes just to see. I saw nothing good.

Twisted husks of metal, carcasses of used-to-be contraptions. They were scattered all over the bridge, Unconsecrated caught in between the wreckages, and swarming all over them and around them, like one huge writhing mass. I sincerely didn't want to go around and through that. It looked terrible and, for once, I was afraid of something that was to be feared. My heart pounded in my chest, slamming painfully against my ribcage. I desperately wanted to find another route. As more and more Unconsecrated wormed their way off the bridge to me, the more indecisive I became. I stared at the large mass of Unconsecrated, swarming, writhing, overflowing on each other—this was a horde. I was not insane enough to run through a horde. I turned on heel and ran, dodging around other Unconsecrated. I felt bitter tears touch my eyes, and I kept running, even faster. But I was tired; my muscles were stiff and my mind was fuzzy. I wanted to sit down and cry out my exhaustion and sleep. I closed my eyes, pushed past the tears and kept running. I turned and jumped onto the escape route of an apartment building, and kept climbing the stairs until I reached the roof of the building. I walked around in a loose circle. There was only one entrance to the rest of the building, which had been barred and closed off. I felt solid concrete under my feet, and collapsed. I felt safe. I needed to sleep and rest; in the morning, I would find another route to Vista. I curled up in a small, warm ball and drifted off into sweet unconsciousness.

-xxx-

When I pushed myself up off the ground, I felt sick. The world was swaying and shaking underneath me—what was happening? I ran towards the edge of the building and nearly launched myself over in my rush. My voice caught in my throat, and I couldn't find the air to scream. Below me, hanging onto the escape route staircase for dear life, was Ray. Below him, gathered in such great numbers that they were shaking the building to its very foundations, was the horde of Unconsecrated. The emergency staircase was rusty and broken, barely hanging onto the wall. Ray was on the bottom step of the last flight; his weight would disturb the staircase enough that it would fall into the Unconsecrated. Ray hadn't seen me yet—his eyes were glued to the steps in front of him, his teeth gritted in concentration. He stepped onto the next stair. The entire thing groaned in protest and shook—Ray didn't move a muscle, and I could see that he was panicking as sweat beaded up on his forehead.

I could help Ray. I could save him—but would he let me go after that? Or would he confine me back to my village? On the other hand, Ray would fall and die if he kept trying to walk up that staircase. If he didn't die from the fall, it would be from the Unconsecrated swarming below us. I would be free of Ray—except from the burden of guilt of letting him die. I shook my head to clear my thoughts. It was simple: Ray was human. The Unconsecrated were not. All I had to do was save a simple human life—I would think of what to do later. But for now, I had to focus on helping Ray.

"Hey!" I shouted. Ray glanced around carefully. "Up here!" I shouted back down. Ray's head snapped up, and I could see the relieved look in his face that made my stomach turn uncomfortably. "You infected?" I called down. Ray shook his head, shaking as much as his soon-to-be-collapsing staircase. I leaned over on my stomach, edging my way carefully off the building. Ray could see the very faint outline of my plan. He went up onto the next step, winced as the structure shuddered under his feet, and grabbed my wrists as I grabbed his. I grunted and pulled myself back as Ray jumped, I cried out in pain as my muscles were strained to pull Ray up. I could feel his grip immediately slip and grab the edge of the building. I leaned over and put my arms underneath his, and threw myself back. Ray grunted as he scarped against the building, and he pushed himself the rest of the way up the building, and collapsed next to me, panting.

"Thank you," Ray gasped. "Don't mention." I replied, having regained my breath much faster than Ray had. I pushed myself reluctantly off the ground and stumbled over to my bag. I pulled out my book on the building. My heart sank as I flipped open to the page of Maryland. "No!" I cried out, holding the page in my trembling hands. I must have slept on my bag—the page was twisted and ripped, almost indecipherable. "What?" Ray asked, concern filling his voice. Angry, frustrated tears filled my eyes, and my hands curled into angry claws around the book. I stomped over to the edge of the building and hurled it with a cry into the Unconsecrated. I crouched down and wrapped my arms around myself. The tears were impossible to stop—flowing over my cheeks and dripping down my chin—but my despair was tamable. I quickly bottled my despair and tucked it away, to save for another time. I slowed my shuddering gasps for air, so I was breathing easily and slowly. I wasn't going to die here—I was going to leave. To escape.

Ray had just crouched down next to me, and his hand just touched my shoulder as I stood up. I looked down ruefully at the Unconsecrated—I thought briefly about fetching the book, but immediately ignored the idea. I turned around and walked past Ray, who still had his hand hanging in the air, which he immediately dropped. I took a deep breath, staring down at the swarming mass of dead flesh. "I can do this. I can go farther." I whispered to myself, hands on my hips. But how would I get farther than this? I screamed down at the horde, "_Stop following me and die already!"_ I wrenched my machete up, and over my head; I was tempted to throw it down into the horde. I might have if Ray didn't grab my wrist. He grabbed my shaking arms and pulled them down to my side. I was shaking terribly, and my eyes betrayed me by forming tears. I stared at the sky and blinked, forcing the tears in my eyes away.

"Dove. Calm down," Ray said, squeezing my shoulders lightly. I glared at him and growled through gritted teeth, "What do you think I'm doing?" Ray smiled at me. "That's better," He grinned. We both teetered precariously as the building rocked beneath our feet. Ray caught me before I toppled over the edge. "Thanks," I gasped, surprised by how unstable the building was. "Don't mention it," Ray muttered, glancing over the roof. "We need to get of this building," Ray stated. "Shocker," I muttered under my breath. Ray shot me an amused look. "Do you have any ideas, Dove?" I paused and started pacing around the roof, observing the buildings close to us. "Uh, I'm working on it," I said, and peered at the closest building, which was farther away from the village and closer towards the direction I was heading. "Okay, I've done this before. Like, a _lot_ of times before. It should work, as long as your land on your feet." Ray glanced at me warily, having waked over to stand beside me to observe the building I was staring at.

"Like a cat?" He asked, snapping me out of my thoughts. "Uh, like a cat hurled at the ground." Ray looked uneasy, and I grinned at him manically. "What we're going to do is run and jump off the building, onto that building over there. Watch me, and then you'll have to do it—unless you have any better ideas." I backed up to the other side of the building, getting down into a runner's position. Ray looked shocked. "Dove, there has to be other options than this. It's dangerous! You'll kill yourself." I glanced at him. "The way I see it, there _are_ no other options. And hey, you know, what a way to go, eh?" And then I charged off the roof, propelling myself off the roof and into the air, almost soaring for the few seconds that I was airborne. The building was much farther than most I had jumped to. I had been far back to vault myself far enough. But this was a different story—I was trying to throw myself over one collapsed building to reach an intact one.

And damn, did I misjudge the distance.


	9. Chapter 9

**Sorry! I've been going to some family reunions that are pretty far away from home, and I've been getting lazy because of it! Sorry, and please enjoy this chapter! Thanks again!**

**PS: I don't own the Forest of Hands and Teeth.**

**PSS: Carrie Ryan does.**

**PSSS: I'm listening to My Chemical Romance as I write this .**

**Chapter 9**

I slammed into the building, my ribcage taking almost all of the damage. There was a whoosh as all the air escaped from my lungs, and another whoosh as I fell. My foot caught on something, and suddenly, my back slammed into the wall, and the world turned upside down as my hair stood on end. I was vaguely aware of someone shouting, but it was hard to hear over all of the moaning and ringing. My eyes darted wildly around, blurred. Something warm and slick was on the back of my head, and my ankle felt funny. My arms were above my head, and fingers were pulling on mine. I cried out in pain when a hand yanked mine, pulling my entire body, and moving my ankle. I looked up, and my shirt fell into my view.

There was sudden realization:

My shirt was falling upwards, into my face.

My upper torso was exposed.

Ray could plainly see me. (as embarrassing as it is)

My ankle is most likely broken.

And I am hanging upside down, not even an inch above the Unconsecrated.

I gasped, and pulled my shirt back down (or maybe it was up) and tucked it into my trousers. I brought my other leg up, and locked it around the sill my ankle was trapped in. With a tremendous grunt, I lifted myself up, and I was basically doing a mid-air crunch. But my entire diaphragm had a spasm of unbearable pain, and I slammed my back down again into the wall, giving another painful tug to my ankle. I arched my back away from the wall, and screamed.

I repeated my actions by slowly raising myself again, until I could clearly see the windowsill. I gripped the edges firmly with my hands, and launched myself into the building. I landed agonizingly on the floor, slamming my cheek into the moth-eaten carpeted floor. I moaned and propped myself up on one elbow. I surveyed the room quickly, and the only thing my pain-fuzzed mind could conclude from the observation that the room was dark. I groaned and stood up, pushing past the pain. If anything, I needed to get somewhere safe so I could rest. I could only think of a few safe places, and I couldn't reach any of them fast enough, not from here. I stifled a moan as I limped down the stairs—I took a back exit, since it was farthest away from the Unconsecrated. I dodged around all of the Unconsecrated that approached me; they limped behind me, no one slowing down or gaining speed, each of us keeping the same pace. That is, until I tired out. I was running on my last reserves of energy, but I felt as though I could keep this pace up until the end of time. Then I tripped on wood and landed awkwardly on my ankle. I was still ahead, but precious minutes were being wasted as I screamed in agony and pushed myself up again. I could feel dead fingers brush my back, and moans chase me away from the reaching hands.

I turned to look back once, so I could see the building I had jumped from. I stopped and watched it collapse; I didn't see Ray on the roof, and I didn't wonder about what happened to him. I decided that I didn't care. As the structured groaned and fell, I found myself wondering how the bridge was doing. If this horde were from the bridge, would the bridge be empty? It was definitely worth checking. I turned back around, wincing as pain from my ankle shot up my leg, and hobbled along towards the bridge.

-xxx-

The bridge was just as inviting as it was when I first got to it. Slightly more so, actually. There was a growing herd of Unconsecrated following me, and the bridge was flushed of almost half of its Unconsecrated. I wouldn't be able to run or jump, leap or skid around any of the twisted metal contraptions, but I would be able to simply walk through the narrow gaps between the metal. I closed my eyes and imagined the map that was torn up—I couldn't recall the picture itself, but I _did_ remember the routes. 97, 301, 103, 95, 95. It would take ma straight to Vista, if I was careful. Moaning behind me reminded me that I had to keep moving. I walked stiffly onto the bridge, and moans consumed, filling the empty air. I felt urgency to run pass through my mind as I climbed the piles of twisted metal like a playground. I winced at every hand that rose up to meet me, every rotting face that turned to see mine, every dead eye that held my gaze before dropping. I found salty tears rolling down my cheeks when I had to slice the Unconsecrated with my machete; I didn't know why this made me cry; it wasn't from physical pain, but emotional. I knew that sleep deprivation can drive a person insane; but I only slept, what a day ago? Maybe not; the sky always seemed dark.

Halfway through the bridge, I realized that I wasn't going to be able to battle the rest of the way through. There were Unconsecrated caught in the metal frames, scrambling over them, hitting the ground and overflowing like a wave. There was an old bus caught between the tide and me; it would only be a matter of seconds before they overcame the obstacle in their great number. I was cornered on one side of the bridge, with so many Unconsecrated moaning that it was more like vicious howling. I was backed up against the short metal bumper, cringing at the moans. I watched the bus shift ever so slightly, and the Unconsecrated spill onto the spare amount of road before me, tumbling down on top of each other and not being able to get back up again, because there were so many. As they sprawled out before me, I leaned back, and fell off of the bridge, screaming in joy and fear as I flipped and spun in the air before I hit the water.

It was cold. Cold and dark. When I opened my eyes, all I saw was a deep, blue darkness. I opened my mouth to take a breath. What I breathed wasn't air—my mind rang as I sucked ice cold water into my lungs, which rejected the liquid, coughed the water out and impulsively sucked in more water searching for air. My mind flashed dark spots in front of my eyes, eating away my vision so there were only a few speckles of light left, and eventually just darkness.

I tried to move my arms and legs, but they felt stiff and heavy. I decided not to move, because it took too much effort. 'Nough said. I floundered uselessly in the darkness, waiting for something to happen. That's all I felt like I was doing. I knew that I was going to leave soon—I'm not sure how, but I knew that I was just going to disappear from this dark place; I decisively named it purgatory. I blinked—and I saw a flash of blue, maybe a spur of white added in. Blinking was hard—my eyelids felt like they held the weight of the world. I could feel pressure in my chest, an uncomfortable, tight, balling pressure building up. I blinked again, and this time it was half of blue, a quarter of white, and a third of some sort of…light, which I think is the only way to describe it. Then I felt pain, horrendous pain shooting from my arm, up to my shoulder, to my neck and to my head. I forced my eyes open and kicked out limply—it was weak, but it was still a kick. I hit something large, and I wedge my foot in between us, and used all of my strength to wrench us apart. I could hardly move, but my head was above water, and I was choking out water and sucking in air. I could feel hands grab me, latch onto my ankles and drag me down, down into the waters depth, the only place where we were equal in strength. I screamed my air out as I felt the bite—a painful pinch because my trousers were so thick. I choked on water when I felt it—another blinding flash of agony, this time surging from my left calf. I lashed out wildly—my machete had been clutched in my hand the entire time. I made contact and the grips on me released. I surged upwards and gasped for air.

I glanced around, and felt panic take over my mind—I was far out, away from the bridge, far enough that it was way out of sight, but I could still see land. I swam towards it, exhausted and fearful of the water, seeing the water churn here and there with rising Unconsecrated.

-XxX-

When I finally touched the ground with my toes, I cried out in relief. It took me so long to drag myself ashore, waterlogged and close to fainting. I turned and saw Unconsecrated following, but I felt misery take its place. I had been bitten, I knew it. But there was still a tiny bit of hope that I was clinging on to—maybe their teeth hadn't broken through my clothing. I didn't believe in the fact that I was immune—my brother obviously wasn't, and I had many of the same traits as him, so it was almost impossible that I was immune, too. I trudged up from the icy shore and away; I already spotted a near-by city. The closest structure to me was a one-story house, and I climbed unsteadily onto the roof. First, I pulled back my sleeve and exposed my throbbing right arm. There was blood flowing freely from the wound, traveling extra fast from the water. I sniffled and wiped away the rest of the blood—I could see it, deep teeth imprints. I could already feel the infection. At the same time, I was cold and hot, like I was overtaken by a slight fever. I knew that it would get worse—I had felt my father's skin before, and he had described it to me. I knew, that at the end, I would feel hot, like I was stuck in a house on fire, and weak, shaking from the infection that ran through my veins. The end wasn't too far—not with a bite this deep. With shaking hands, I turned slightly so I could see the back of my left calf. I moved apart the torn cloth to see the wound. I sighed sadly; my skin was ripped up by teeth, so it looked like a bloody, gaping hole. I mentally gave myself two hours before I returned, five tops.

I gazed sadly at the Unconsecrated surrounding my house. "What more could you want?" I whispered as they congregated. "You've taken me. You've infected me. So why are you still following me? What more could you take? What more can you want?"

* * *

**Bwa hahaha...you know what I'm doing here. Or do you? **

**Anyway, please don't kill me for possibly killing the main character! Because I may not be! O.o**


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

**Sorry for the delay! Yes, I have school, and yes, I've actually been doing my homework (gasp!) instead of updating. Shame on me. Anyway, enjoy and review, please! I need your opinion!**

**POV Ray (relax, people. This isn't going to be happening too often.)**

Ray stood there motionless as Dove slammed into the building. He screamed when she fell, and cried out when her foot got caught in the windowsill. He screamed her name when the plague rats pulled on her fingers, almost dislodging her most likely broken ankle from the windowsill. Ray screamed Dove's name over and over; he wouldn't be surprised if she couldn't hear him over the roar of the horde moaning. Ray grabbed the sides of his head and paced back and forth on the roof, thinking of a way to help Dove…the only way he could think of helping her was jumping on the roof, hoping to not fail like she did, go down the staircase onto Dove's floor and pull her into the building. And then what? Ray didn't know. He had to pace himself.

When Ray turned back to Dove, she had just finished tucking her shirt into her pants. Very slowly, she moved her other foot to the windowsill and carefully locked her feet together, and slowly raised her torso up—Ray winced; on the wall behind where Dove's head was dangling was a splatter of blood. Ray shouted Dove's name when she couldn't support herself, and her body fell back wards and she hit the wall, her head painfully slamming against it.

"Dove! You have to listen to me!" Ray screamed over the deafening roar of the horde. "Don't move! I'll be right over!" And he backed up, ready to launch himself off of the building and onto Dove's, which seemed a considerate amount away. Just as Ray started to run, Dove repeated her actions, and managed to escape into the window. At the same time, Ray slammed into the edge of the roof, but he managed to haul himself onto it, spewing profanities. Ray lay on his back for a few agonizing moments, eyes fluttering as he strained not to black out from the pain. He remembered weakly that he still had to get to Dove…and then he remembered that he should roll on his side if he's going to vomit while lying down. Once he was done, he remembered Dove. Was she still here? Had the plague rats gotten to her? His thoughts were interrupted as the building he had jumped from collapsed. Ray unsteadily got up to his feet, walked over to the edge of the roof, his eyes searching for Dove. Knowing her, she'd probably keep moving, even if she were horribly injured.

And then Ray saw it—a cluster of plague rats, all trailing after someone. It was hard to make Dove out—she looked just as tattered and torn as the Plague rats, and she was lumbering just like them, too. But to assure his fears of Dove having died and returned, he saw plague rats peel out from their downed resting spots, and fall in line behind Dove. Ray felt elated—all he had to do was follow them! The plague rats would lead him right to Dove, and then he could keep her safe. He wasn't sure how, and he definitely wasn't sure when, but he hoped it was soon.

**(I just wanted to throw in the Joker's line from the Dark Night: "I'm like a dog chasing cars. I wouldn't know what to do if I caught one…I'd just do things."**

**POV Dove**

I was staring at the gloomy sky, the clouds holding promise of rain. I wanted to start screaming, or cry, because I wasn't dead yet. Well, I guess I was, but I hadn't returned. My body was on fire; I felt like a pile of coals lying on the roof. But I could pinch myself and feel the pain, or the burning in my bite-marks. I didn't dare to let myself think that I was immune…but I mean, wouldn't I be dead if I wasn't? Well, if I _am_ immune, then why are the Unconsecrated still coming out of the water? My question was quickly answered.

"Hello?" A voice called over the moans. I raised my head just a fraction of an inch to see a figure standing at the bottom of a cresting hill. I dropped my head back to the roof, and moaned at the jarring pain, before rolling over and ignoring the figure. The voice called out again warily, "Hello? Is anyone there?" I could here them approach. "Go away! I'm Infected!" I screeched, holding myself. One by one, the moans lessened, until there were only a few dwindling cries, and the distant moans of approaching Unconsecrated. "Maybe I can help," The voice tried—I recognized it as an adolescent male's—I jumped, realizing that they were so close. He grunted, and heaved himself onto my roof. I reluctantly sat up and clenched my machete in my right hand—I couldn't trust this kid.

"Like hell you can. Get out of here," I snarled, jerking my chin towards the hill he had appeared at. "No, I mean…I can end it all. So you can escape what you'll have to feel." He was engulfed in shadow, just a black shape talking to me. I felt crying; it reminded me of Ray, who I never thought that I would miss. "Look, I've gone through it all; I'm giving myself about five minutes before I die and return. That gives you a five-minute start to get out of here." But the teenager didn't move. "I can help," He insisted. I snorted, and I gestured again to the hill. "I'll stay." He said decisively. I held my arm out to him. " Just touch my arm. Feel my heat, my _infection._ You have to see how far gone I am." I said roughly. Very carefully, he put his pale, cold hand over my burning arm; he must've grimaced, but his entire face cast in shadow. He eventually took his hand away. "How long have you been like this?" He asked. I shrugged. "I'm not sure. I haven't been keeping track of the time." Without a word, he drew out a machete, and held it loosely in his hands when I cringed. I turned away and stared at the horizon, and together we waited for my death.

-xxx-

When I woke up, it was drizzling, and I was almost consumed with the moans of the Unconsecrated. My head snapped up, and I could feel the roof shake underneath me as the stranger next to me jolted to attention. "How long was I out?" I asked, touching my heated skin. "About a day." He responded quickly. I could see him now; the lightning illuminated our area. The boy had to be at my age, maybe a year older. He had light blonde hair that fell into his face, and pale skin, like mine. His eyes were unfathomably dark, almost black. I could feel distrust creep up on me, as well as anger. Why had I not pushed him off the roof? Why hadn't I escaped? Why didn't I do anything?

"You should probably go." I said curtly. "You should probably come." He replied, dragging me off the roof with him. I made a sound of protest, but I was too weak to. I strained half-heartedly against his grip, but he managed to keep me moving, and it was easier to just go with him than to struggle. We stumbled through thick underbrush and thick tree roots, moans pursuing us from every direction. My hair stood on end, and for once in a long time, I was terrified. I was hoping that this stranger would lead me through this nightmare, to somewhere safe, and warm, and isolated…

We stopped abruptly, and I took a few moments to take in my surroundings: heavy cement floor, worn from age; inky black darkness, swallowing everywhere that wasn't illuminated by the crack from the entrance; a dark, dank coldness creeping into my bones. We were underground. My mother had told me stories of her trip into the subway, after jumping off of the blimp so Elias and Gabry could reach safety. My mother was horrified of all-consuming darkness, and the underground. From her tales of misadventures in the subways, I was wise enough to not venture into them while I explored the city with my brother; but I wasn't in a subway, I'm positive of that. There was the faint smell of stale feces and filth, and my feet were wet, as well as my ankles. I flinched as cold drops of water hit me from above, even though it wasn't raining. I looked up and saw a grate, filtering weak light into my tomb. I stifled a gasp as fingers poked through the holes, trying to reach us. The Unconsecrated boy didn't possess the power or smarts to lift up the grate, but he uselessly pulled on the grate nonetheless. It was impossible to get through the grate; it was sealed into the sides of the earth-asphalt, still stubbornly in place. I didn't understand how the stranger and I had gotten into the underground passageway, but I decided that it could wait until later.

"Where are we?" I asked quietly, my voice reverberating of the walls and floor. "The sewers." The boy replied as he dragged me deeper into the darkness.


	11. Chapter 11

**Hey guys! My SYOT got deleted, so AWWWWWW MYYYYGODDDD IIII HAAAAATTEEE YOUUUU PEOPLEEEE WHO DIDDD THATTT NOWWW ARRRRAAAAAGRRRRMMERRAAAAFFER RRGAAANNNMMMAAAAGRRRRRRRR.**

**And there goes my frustration :D! So now these chapters will be coming like _that_. A word in italics-that's pretty damn fast, guys. Anyway, I hope you like this chapter, and yes...there is DEFINITELY something going on between This new character and Dove...it's kind of like the romantic thing in my Host story, except more badass because there are zombies :) okay, enjoy! **

**POV Dove**

I struggled to focus my mind. It was dark, and my muscles wouldn't move by themselves. I knew someone was pulling me forward, dragging me. My entire body was engulfed in heat. I started to wonder if I had returned. Was this it? Had I died? Was some coercive scent of flesh drawing me forward, against my own will? Was I trapped in my body, unable to move my limbs willingly? Was I Unconsecrated? Was this what it's like? Am I like my brother now, torn up and broken from mindless wandering? Do I look human anymore, or am I like that little boy in the basement, whipped to the bone, reduced to no more than a crawling, moaning hunk of raw meat? I was terrified that the answers to my questions were yes. I screamed and cried, and strained against the force dragging me forward. Before long, I couldn't support my own weight. I shrieked when freezing cold hands scooped me up from the ground. The cold was painful, but relieving and pleasurable at the same time. I gasped shallowly, trying to regain my breath. I eventually closed my eyes and lapsed into unconsciousness.

XXX

I groaned. My entire body felt pummeled, like I had slammed repeatedly into concrete. I pushed myself off of the ground, and hissed as my arms screamed in protest. My fingers gently brushed my forehead, just barely touching the tender spots. I could feel pleasingly cool concrete under me, and the second I cracked my eyes open, a thin, precise, sharp blade was held to my throat. I didn't so much as flinch.

"I'm guessing you haven't turned," My captor's voice asked gruffly. I slowly put my hand down, and replied in a gravely voice, "No." All contact was gone. I opened my eyes, and covered them again when bright flames pierced my vision. I sat up and groaned, then squinted at the floor, trying to adjust to the light. "How do you feel?" The boy asked. I gritted my teeth in response and clenched the bite on my arm with my hand. "Right. Give me your arm." When I didn't move, the boy grabbed my arm and twisted it away from my body. I kicked him in the face, and we broke apart, cursing. "Don't touch me," I snarled. I was radiating the emotions of an injured animal on her last legs. Even though I had blacked out, I'm still shaking from exhaustion. My skin is burning, and I'd give anything to have a peaceful nights' sleep.

"Stop being idiotic and give me your arm. It's hurting you more than me." The boy leaned in towards me, and I jumped to my feet, bristling in anger. "Don't touch me!" I screeched indignantly. The boy stood up slowly, too. His eyes flashed in the light under hi shaggy hair, and I could see a hard look settle there. "Fine. You want to play it the hard way? I'll play it the hard way." He faked a lunge at me, and immediately I tensed up; the effort was draining. This happened a few more times before the boy grabbed me by the shoulders, swung me to the ground, and straddled me. "Get off of me!" I roared, squirming and struggling underneath him. In normal circumstances, I would have been able to at least throw him off, but not only was he strong, he was a full foot taller than me, and at least fifty pounds heavier. That, and I became close to fainting. I closed my eyes and let the boy work on my arm. When he started to cleanse the wound, (which is extremely painful, let me tell you) I would ask him questions.

"So…what's your name?" I asked while grinding my teeth. "Mmmm…because we're working in such close proximity of each other…my name's Fate." He grinned as his lips brushed my collarbone, making my skin crawl. "And you're not just humoring me?" I asked dryly. "It's an abbreviation for a much longer, much more humiliating name. But we'll save that talk for another time. So, what's your name?" I yawned, and tiled my head so the joins in my neck cracked. "My name is Dove." Fate smirked. "Aren't doves supposed to be peaceful?" I rolled my eyes, even though he couldn't see me. I gently flexed my arm. "Ouch!" I yelped as Fate's fingernails cut into the bite. "Ouch" was quite the understatement for such excruciating pain. "Sorry," Fate apologized. "Let me get that bowl of water…" He leaned over my face, grasping at bowl that was out of my view because his body blocked it. "You know, you could actually get up." I grumbled. Fate laughed at me. "Why? It's so much more comfortable this way." He chuckled. "I could always knee you in an uncomfortable place…" I threatened. "And I could spit in your bite. But neither of those things are going to happen." I growled in response, and Fate bent over my wound again. I chewed on my shirt as Fate put the finishing bandages on my forearm. "Don't be too active or anything," Fate commanded. "That won't be too hard," I replied, skimming my fingers over the festering gash in my leg. I could hear Fate suck in a breath. "I didn't see that one." I tilted my head to the side and scraped the dried blood off of the surrounding skin. "Strange. It's almost the entire reason as to why you had to drag me to this particular spot." I could hear Fate suck in a deep breath, and I looked up, so his icy-green eyes met mine. "You might want to bite a piece of cloth for this."  
**POV Ray**

"Patience. Patience." Ray muttered to himself as he trudged along the bridge. He was tired, his feet ached in pain, and all he really wanted was to sleep. Ray could've given up and headed back to the tree village and live with sister; he felt more than guilty about leaving Raven behind. But Ray had traveled for so long, and searched so hard for Dove that there was no way that he was turning back now. To pass time, Ray pretended that he was Unconsecrated—it felt like it. He would never stop, he would never rest. Ray was being pulled in from one point, and it was irresistible. He knew what and who was pulling him, so there really was no reason to turn back. Only to move forward.

Ray observed his feelings for Dove with a certain sadness. His feelings for Dove developed and became stronger the ore he thought of her: her smile or her snarl, the way she made wild hand gestures as she talked at night—even though Ray couldn't see them, the way her hair flowed onto her shoulders, the way her gray eyes pierced him. Ray truly believed that he loved her; how couldn't he? Dove was a once-in-a-lifetime-girl. She was extraordinary—and as far as Ray was concerned, she was is.

Ray was snapped out of his thoughts as a Unicorn grabbed his shoulder. Ray threw the hand off of his shoulder, whipped around, took his knife and stabbed the Unconsecrated in the skull. And he kept walking.

Until he stopped.

Ray gaped at the bridge before him. It was tremendous. And it was swarmed with Unconsecrated—and instead of turning to Ray with open, hanging mouths, they all toppled off the side of the bridge and into the river. He was downwind of the Unconsecrated, so they hadn't sensed him yet. Ray's eyes followed the Unconsecrated falling off the bridge. As soon as they hit the water and disappeared underneath the surface, they were cut off from everything above the water, and therefore downing them. Ray looked at the shore, roughly fifty yards off from where the Unconsecrated fell into the water. They were emerging, scrabbling, moaning, dragging themselves off the ground, water logged. It was a miracle—more a like a curse, Ray corrected—that the Unconsecrated were actually managing to drag themselves out of the water. He closed his eyes and prayed that Dove was safe. He had no idea what he would do if she weren't.

**POV Dove**

It's been a few hours since Fate has patched up my knee—he doesn't let me walk or move much, but I fight every inch of the way. Other than that, I lie down and wonder when I'm going to die and return. I'm not very patient, so the waiting is excruciating—sometimes I expect that when I open my eyes, I'll stare at Fate from across the room with such intent, he'll come over to me, and that I'll rip him to shreds. But no desire or devour my own species has come, so lately I've put the worrying of becoming Unconsecrated to rest. Lately, my mind has been dawdling on Ray. I'm terrified that's he's returned, even though he most certainly died when that building collapsed. I can see him now, broken bones poking out of his torn, lacerated flesh, limping towards me with empty eyes. This image makes my heart tremble, and it makes me cry.

I never thought that that action would hurt so much.

Yes, bringing back even the simplest emotions were agonizing, but crying is the most excruciating sort of torture that I've ever endured. It feels like someone's wrenching my heart out and twisting every time a sob rattles my chest. I haven't cried since Jonah died—and not even then. I can't hide my tear-fests from Fate—there's no where I can go that's out of his view completely; he's been looking after me diligently. Whenever I cry, he always holds me to hi chest and strokes my hair, whispering soothing things in my ear. I can't decide if I like the compassion he shows for me or not—it just gives my heart a confusing, painful stab whenever Fate holds me like that.

For now, I'm resting. Fate isn't afraid to pester me about where I'm going, but I still haven't told him yet. First, I'm going to need to find a highway. Then I go off to find Vista. From there, the Forest of Hands and Teeth. I can live in solitude in one of the abandoned villages—the ones that are damaged beyond repair—and just be alone by myself; no matter how nice company has started to feel.


	12. Woo-hoo!

HEYYY!

Guess what happened!

No!

No!

Keep trying!

OKAY, I'll just tell you!

MY FUCKING HUNGER GAMES SYOT GOT DELETED GGGGGGGRRRRRRUUUUUUUURRRRRRR RAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHHHM MMMM RRRRRRRRGGGGGGRRRRRRRRRRRAAA AAAARRRRRR!

...

I'm okay now :)

All right, since my SYOT got deleted, I suspect that it will be deleted again if I make a new one. And you guys know what that means-I'm free to continue updating and writing my other stories! Yay!

This is a good thing, because I've been trying to formulate another chapter for my Host story... I'm not sure of what to do next. I'm not good at fillers or fluff. But I have added a new chapter to my Forest of Hands and Teeth story-not the one about Gabrielle, the story named Agony-and I'm really happy with it.

If anyone has any ideas, suggestions or comments, please review or PM me!

(Sorry about my freakout above...I needed to vent)

Emily :D

**PS: I did some switching around, and for those of you who are reading my story, _Agony_; the new chapter is chapter eleven, so...read it!**


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